


Under one Sky

by Dissenter



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternate Universe, And not in a cute way, Angst, Betrayal, Child Abandonment, Cognitive Dissonance, Damage limitation strategies, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Families of Choice, Homelessness, Isolation, Love, Mixing human and non-human instincts has consequences, Non-consensual soul modification, Non-human Instincts, Not a Happy Story, Parent-Child Relationship, Rage, Sacrifice, Sibling Rivalry, Sky Nana, Territorial Flame users, Unhealthy Relationships, attempted child murder, human instincts, implied/referenced child murder, mystically induced depression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-27 14:30:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13250190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dissenter/pseuds/Dissenter
Summary: In which Flame users are highly territorial and everything is heartbreakingly awful.





	1. Keep a candle burning

**Author's Note:**

> There is a name for a marriage between Skies. They call it a war.

Iemitsu knew he’d been a damned fool. He should have known better, he _did_ know better. Nana at least had the excuse of ignorance, of latency, of being a civilian. He had no such justifications to hide behind. He’d known exactly what kind of a mistake he was making and he’d made it anyway.

He wasn’t even entirely sorry.

Because he loved Nana, he did. The human part of him loved her with a fierceness that would never let go. He would love her until the stars fell from the heavens and the sun rose in the west, and rivers flowed from the seas back up to the mountains.

The Sky in him wanted to kill her dead. Saw only a rival, a challenger, a threat to be eliminated. It did not make for an easy marriage.

In his defence, it had taken him a while to recognise her for what she was. Latent Flames could be hard to detect, especially in people with low stress lifestyles, and before she’d met him, Nana’s life had been peaceful. When he first met her he’d just seen a beautiful woman, kind, and open, and welcoming, she drew people in as easy as breathing, and he was not immune. Maybe that should have been his first warning.

Because Skies weren’t immune to each other. That was what always made their interactions such a beautiful disaster. If they just hated each other they’d avoid each other, or they’d fight, and that would be all. If it was just territoriality then the territories would be fought over, then set and that would be an end to it. But the Harmony of Skies, the pull of that promise of home, it dragged them towards each other again and again, even as the rage at the proximity of a _threat,_ of a potential challenger, threatened to consume them. Add in human feelings, human love to that, well… there was a saying “Skies fall in love and empires tremble”.

Latent as she was Nana had pulled on him, and fool that he was he hadn’t realised until he was in far too deep to back away, he hadn’t realised until she already had his heart in her teeth. She had pulled on him, and he’d been drawn in, and soon enough he had loved her far too much to leave. He had pulled on her too, if he was brutally honest with himself, enough so that she had been as much drawn to him as he was to her, and he knew with that uncanny knowing of Skies, he wasn’t the only one with a heart at stake in their war of a marriage.

He knew her human heart loved him, truly, and deeply. He also knew the Sky in her was baying for his blood. In some ways that knowledge was actually exciting. Knowing the danger, the knife edge of emotions they balanced on, it added a certain… spark to their interactions. The time they spent together might be short, by necessity, but it was always intense. Certainly they never needed to fear their marriage growing stale. And if that wasn’t a warning sign of the bad things their marriage was doing to his head he didn’t know what was.

Some nights he wondered, just what did Nana see when she looked at her foolish, handsome, burning bright husband? An ally, an interloper, some fucked up combination of the two. What did she see when she kissed him and held him close? What did she see when she snarled and drove him away? He wanted her, feared her, wanted to take everything she had, wanted to take shelter in her arms, she was the world, she was the war, and it was far, far too late to step away.

It had been fine when she was latent. There was a certain edge to their encounters when he overstayed his welcome, a tendency towards sharp words, and irritability on both sides. But they had never been in danger of _killing_ each other. Times change.

The day she went Active had been memorable for more than one reason. He’d been in Italy when he got the call, that his wife was going into labour. He remembered being so _excited._ He’d jumped on the first available flight, counted down the hours until he could see his beautiful wife, his darling newborn child. He’d burst into her hospital room Flames flickering under his skin, barely contained with the excitement of it all. And then she’d leapt at him teeth bared and eyes glowing orange, and he’d realised through the chaos of the nurses holding her down and trying to sedate her, through the rage that had the flames flickering in his own eyes, and his own soul howling for blood, that the labour had sent her active. Nothing would ever be the same again.

Iemitsu had been a damned fool, but he was in far too deep to cut the ties now, not if Nana didn’t want to. He loved her, they could _make_ this work. He had to come clean with her of course, about Flames, what they were, what they meant. She deserved to know why she’d gone into a homicidal rage at the sight of the husband she loved. He explained over the phone, from a hotel room several miles away, and he wondered if that would be far enough once she’d grown into her full strength. He’d tasted the edges of her Sky in that hospital room and she was every bit his equal. No wonder he’d never been able to resist her pull.

…

With training it was possible to handle the presence of another active Sky for weeks at a time. Iemitsu had that training. Vongola had multiple Skies, none of them weak, and they had to at least be capable of working together for short periods. Nana did not have that training, but a hefty bribe to the Mist Arcobaleno, was enough to fix that problem. They had to be careful of course, so careful, space out the visits, never linger more than a few days, maintain safe areas free of intrusion. He never entered her bedroom any more, and the one time she’d visited him in Italy, she’d stayed well clear of his workplace. But it worked. It might not be the most conventional of relationships, but he wouldn’t trade that knife edge of _threat/desire/devotion_ for anything.

He’d thought, _hoped, prayed,_ that Tsuna would be a Mist, after all he showed a lot of the traits. Wariness of strangers, ability to influence his peers. (He’d been lying to himself, the children of Sky to Sky marriages are almost always Skies.) At any rate he’d thought he had _time._ Children weren’t supposed to light up until puberty, a defence mechanism to retain the protection of adult Flame actives until they were old enough to look after themselves.

Then he brought the Ninth home to meet his wife and child. They all had enough control by now to handle a short meeting, and Nana might _need_ to be familiar with Nono’s Sky if something went very very wrong. It had been going well. Then he saw his son light up in bright Sky orange Flames, and all he could think was “Oh fuck.”

The rare cases of early activation so often had bad, bad endings. With broken parents who’d done the unforgivable, with traumatised children, who’d had the sense to run and as a consequence grown up alone on the streets. Flame users were territorial, they would not, could not tolerate another of the same Flame in a place that was _theirs._ That lesson had been learned the hard way after Primo introduced Flame use to the Mafia.

Now generations later and there were _protocols,_ to deal with this sort of thing, if you were Mafia. If there was one thing the mafia had a lot of it was money, and money could be used to smooth over a _lot_ of problems. An Active child could be sent away to a country manor, under the care of a non-active nanny or tutor. They could be sent to Mafia boarding school, where specially trained teachers kept the situation from escalating to all out homicide. He could do that. He was Mafia, and if he said the word then his little Tsuna would be too. If he said the word Tsuna could be taken from his mother, and his home, and everything he knew, to be raised in a foreign country with his whole life set out ahead of him. Tsuna would be safe, Nono would make sure of it.

He looked at his wife. His beautiful, burning bright wife, who he’d already cost so much. Because of him she was an Active Sky, would never be free of the inhuman instincts that bound all Actives like chains. Because of him, she was married to a man who could spend no more than a handful of days with her a year, like something out of an old fairy tale. Because of him their son was an Active Sky, years too young, and so very heartbreakingly strong. He looked at her and tried to imagine taking her child, the child _she’d_ raised, and cared for, and _been there_ for, from her. He didn’t have that right. He had the power, but he didn’t have the right, and he knew, just from looking at her that if he tried to exercise that power the fragile, knife edge balance of their marriage would collapse, and if he ever saw her again she would kill him.

There was another option. It was not free of consequences, but it was there impossible to dismiss. Sealing was not a thing to be done lightly. It would affect Tsuna, would affect his co-ordination, his processing speed, his academic ability, and not in a good way. But if they did it, then Tsuna would be able to stay with his mother, without her trying to kill him, or killing herself trying not to. He would remain a civilian, able to make his own choices about where his life would lead, whether he wanted to be part of his father’s world or his mother’s. If they removed the seal when he was a teenager, he would have a chance to catch up academically before any major exams. Tsuna wouldn’t be safe, no Sky outside the shelter of a famiglia was ever truly safe, but he would be loved, and he would be free.

Nono sat quietly. Waited for him to make his decision. Iemitsu’s son, Iemitsu’s choice. Nana’s too really, but one of them at least should remain untainted by this decision, whichever way it fell. In the end though it was Nana who decided him. She was strong, in a quiet, subtle way that so many people missed. Whatever problems the sealing might cause Tsuna he trusted her to help their son through them. He had no such faith in the nameless faceless nanny that would be responsible for a little mafia child ripped away from all he knew. He didn’t allow his voice to waver as he decided his son’s fate.

“Seal him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's been a lot of stuff with flame users (esp Skies and Clouds) being territorial, which I love, but it got me thinking, if you take that idea to its logical conclusion, i.e. that they can't be around others of the same Flame without trying to Kill them, it could really cause a lot of problems considering humans are social animals that generally need a group of people larger than seven to be socially healthy. So here we are, homicidal territorial urges expressed towards others of the same flame. It makes training difficult, it makes co-existence impossible, and it really messes up peoples relationships with family. 
> 
> Then I thought about Nana and Iemitsu, because it would be interesting if they had an actual good reason to avoid each other most of the time.
> 
> Then I thought about what happens when kids go active, and I could have gone with an "instinctive exemption on blood relatives" clause but then I thought about young lion cubs, and how they get kicked out of the pride when they're old enough to take care of themselves or establish their own territory, and actually it kind of fits with a lot of the stuff that happens in canon, with Xanxus, and Hayato, and Tsuna, and even Hibari if you look at it right. And that then ties into reasons for Tsuna being Sealed beyond just Iemitsu and Nono were stupid and nasty. So yeah, going active is a sign to the instincts that the kid is old enough to be kicked out. Which is manageable when a teenager goes active, not so much in a five year old. This happens because the Flame abilities come from a species(see Kawahira) that has a completely different social structure to humans.  
> I have a lot of ideas for this fic, especially regarding the arcobaleno, and Xanxus, and poor Hayato and his multiple Flames.


	2. Turn the lights out as you leave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hayato's backstory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first thing a Flame Active child learns, is that they are alone.

There was, Hayato thought, no feeling quite like the loneliness that came from walking a crowded street, and knowing there was not a soul in the world who would notice if he lived or died. He watched the people walking together, talking together, with friends, acquaintances, _family,_ and he _wanted_ so badly he could weep with the unfairness of it all. He wanted to weep, he wanted to rage, he wanted to feel nothing at all. And in the end it didn’t matter if he wept, or raged, or held his silence because no-one in the world was listening.

Such was the cost of survival it seemed.

…

His father had never managed to go Active, had always been latent, so latent it was impossible to say what his Flame would have been. In theory that should have been a good thing, would at least have meant he hadn’t wanted to kill his six year old son when he’d lit up in nearly every colour of the rainbow. It should have meant their family could have stayed together. Even after Bianchi had gone active, it should have been a simple matter to keep two young children separated. His father’s inactive state should have _helped._

In practice all it meant was that he didn’t _understand._ He didn’t _know_ , he didn’t feel it and at six years old Hayato didn’t have the words to fix his ignorance. But then, Bianchi didn’t either, for all she was older, so maybe it was their father’s failure not theirs, that he couldn’t see how they affected each other, what their instincts demanded of them. When Hayato tried to tell him, his father had laughed and told him sibling rivalries were normal but he really should try harder to get along with his sister. When Bianchi tried to explain, her mother hushed her and told her not to be so melodramatic. They didn’t understand, maybe they refused to understand, he suspected their father didn’t want to know what it meant, to have two children flaring the same Flames, and as for Bianchi’s mother, he suspected she just didn’t care.

But neither Hayato, nor Bianchi had the luxury of ignorance. They knew, bone deep, soul deep, that there was not space in the family mansion for both of them, not with the strength they both carried. As long as they were kept so close they couldn’t help but try to kill each other, to eliminate the threat. Hayato was smaller and younger and Bianchi was too strong for him to kill. If it came down to a fight he would lose.

He didn’t want to die.

His father had encouraged Bianchi to feed him her poison cooking, all her rage and _need_ to eliminate the _threat_ that he posed, distilled into a batch of cookies, and his father had smiled and thought it was _cute._ That was when Hayato had realised he had to leave, when he’d realised that their father’s wilful ignorance would be the death of him. And it was wilful ignorance, his father was Mafia, he had access to information, to active users, even to _Arcobaleno_ if he was willing to pay. The knowledge was there, but still he refused to listen.

The worst thing was that Bianchi was trying, that Hayato was trying, both of them fighting their instincts with all the force of will that had sent them active in the first place. They were trying and it had held for _months,_ but the enforced proximity and desperate fight against their instincts was warping them both. Bianchi’s will had been sublimated into her cooking, because she refused to act on what her Flames demanded of her, and what had once been a sweet comforting hobby had turned lethally toxic. When Hayato had realised something similar was happening to his music, he had set aside the piano forever. He refused to taint the only thing his real mother had given him that way. He learned explosives instead.

He wanted to live, he didn’t want to kill his sister, he didn’t want her to kill him, so he ran, and didn’t dare look back. He ran from his sister’s strength, and his father’s ignorance, and the mother that was not his own and couldn’t care less if her daughter killed him. He’d taken to the streets a tiny ball of anger, and instinct, and willpower, and it had been enough to keep him alive. He had strong enough Flames, young as he was, that he hadn’t been at much risk from anything short of a full adult Flame user, and those generally had better things to do with their time than bothering street kids. He was often hungry, and cold, but out there, no-one would try to kill him. No-one cared enough to make the effort. He was alive, and he should be thankful for that. But by God he was so alone. Human beings weren’t made to be so alone.

Shamal had probably saved his life. Hayato could admit that, when he could bring himself to swallow his pride. He’d taught him all the things a baby Flame user _needed_ to know in order to live. He’d taught him how to control his Flames, how to use them to _fight,_ he’d taught him the basics of explosives, and how to get work as an independent hitman, but more than that he was human contact, a human connection, in the middle of the awful isolation of his exile. Shamal might not be much of a mentor, but he was someone who called Hayato by name, who cared if he was alive, and that was something he had long since learned not to take for granted.

It was Shamal who had taught him how to offset the effect of his multiple Flames. Because having as many as he did, that was a problem, it meant that the only other Flame actives he could work with were Mists like Shamal, who couldn’t help but be capricious, and Skies, and it wasn’t as though Skies were common. He was too many things all at once, five of seven Flames and he set off the territorial rage in nearly all the other Flame users he met. It made it hard for him to work with others.

That couldn’t be helped. Shamal had told him. Was just a part of who he was. But he could… lessen the impact. Shift it from a homicidal rage to a more controllable antagonism. The trick was to lean in to a different Flame from the one that was clashing. Go Cloudy if he was trying to work with a Storm, pull on his Rain if he was trying not to provoke a Cloud, his other Flames were still present of course, would still register, but the effect would be muted. It was exhausting, but it worked, nothing long term, not without a Sky to insulate and mediate, but enough that he could run jobs with other Flame users, could take jobs from Active famiglias. And that, was enough to survive on.

It was enough, it had to be enough, because without a Sky, without a Home to call his own, that was all he could have. He wanted to live, and survival wasn’t living, but it was close enough. Even if the loneliness was enough to steal the breath from his lungs, even if it felt more like he was dying by inches, he wasn’t ready to give up. Things might get better. They might.

Maybe he could find his own Sky one day, and through them a family that he could keep. That was the dream, the beautiful improbable, addictive dream. It _was_ a dream though He wasn’t a fool, Skies weren’t common, and someone with as many Flames as he had, could only cause discord in a set. What Sky would choose him when they could have a nice simple, pure Storm, one that wouldn’t instinctively clash with other elements. No Sky wanted that kind of trouble in their Harmony, no matter how useful his multiple Flames might be. He was a Flame user to hire a needed, not one to keep.

No a Sky was the dream, but there were other more realistic dreams. Maybe he’d find a Mist willing to be his partner, or a particularly open minded Flame Blank. Just because a Sky was an impossible dream and his other options were limited, didn’t mean there was no hope. He might even be able to push down his Rain far enough to connect with another Rain user, Rains was his weakest Flame, and Rains were the most easygoing Flame type. It would be tricky, but he could make it work. He wouldn’t be alone forever.

He believed that. He did. Even on the blackest days, when he walked the streets late into the night and knew with a cold sickening knowing that there was no one to wonder when he was coming home, no one waiting up for him. Sometimes that belief that things would change, was all that kept him going.

And then he got a call from an Arcobaleno, from one of the Mafia’s own messengers, and he realised just how deep his doubts had run because what Reborn was offering didn’t quite seem real. A chance at a Sky, at harmony, at not being _alone_ anymore. He hadn’t realised how thin his hope had worn until it came flooding back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So both Hayato and Bianchi went Flame Active around the same time, and since they both have Storm Flames they naturally wanted to kill each other. This would have been fine if their father had separated them and stuck them in lets say, different boarding schools, or even just different houses. However their father is very latent, and it's been a while since any of their family was Active, and he didn't Listen when they told him they wanted to kill each other.  
> They tried to fight it, and their Flames reacted by twisting their way into their everyday activities, resulting in Bianchi's poison cooking. It would have also affected Hayato's music if he hadn't realised what was happening and dropped the piano in favour of explosives.  
> In the end something had to give and Hayato ran.   
> He has trouble being accepted by other mafia families because he triggers the territorial instincts of just about everyone except Mists and Skies.   
> Shamal being a Mist doesn't react badly to him, and teaches him most of what he knows about his Flames.  
> Hayato triggers the instincts of most Flame users, but depending on which Flame he brings to the fore he can lessen the effect to something manageable with a certain degree of effort.


	3. A message from the lighthouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The arcobaleno are broken and twisted in awful and useful ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a reason the rainbow was called the messenger.

Reborn remembered that moment with all the brutal clarity of daylight, of sunlight, of a Sun that could have lit up half the world if he’d been given the chance to grow into its full power. That day, the worst day of his life, of any of their lives. He remembered. It wasn’t a wrong to be forgotten, or forgiven.

He remembered the dawning realisation in Verde’s eyes, always clever, always quick on the uptake, but not quick enough, not clever _enough_ , not this time. He remembered Skull’s dawning look of betrayal, cut that much deeper because he’d been a civilian first, and so trusted more than any mafia born could dare. He remembered the unsettling blankness of Fon’s expression, all of a Storm’s rage held in abeyance by sheer force of will, an explosion tamed to harness by measured breaths and absolute self control.

They’d thought that they’d finally found somewhere to belong, all of them, though there wasn’t a single one of them that would admit to it. They were too strong was their trouble, too strong for most Skies to hope to rein in, and when they met others of the same Flame the results were inevitably bloody. Flame nulls just didn’t _understand_ and other actives irritated with their weakness, with their inability to keep up, if they didn’t infuriate with the challenge implicit in their existence. They had all of them been achingly alone, and meeting each other, feeling strength that could match them, with a purity that meant they were no challenge, not a rival to be killed but an ally to be courted... It tasted bitter in his mouth now, that feeling that he might almost have called _hope._

Luce though, Luce had known. She had blindsided all of them with her betrayal but in that moment, she hadn’t been able to hide her guilt, her self-loathing over what she had done. They’d all seen it, and it was only the fact that she was _their_ Sky that kept it from ending in blood. What she had done was unforgivable, but she was their _Sky,_ was everything, was peace in a world that battered their souls and senses like an unending storm. If she’d regretted what she’d done, even a little, some of them might well have forgiven her, Reborn couldn’t even say for sure that he wouldn’t have.

But she didn’t regret it. She felt guilty, and grief stricken, and heartbroken at what she’d done, but if she was given it all to do again she wouldn’t change it. She was Sky, the heart of their Harmony, and so he didn’t have it in him to turn on her, none of them did, but neither could they forgive what she’d done, when with her agreement the man in the iron Mask had ripped into their flames, their souls and turned them in on themselves. The twisting of their bodies was only an outward manifestation of the violence done to their spirits, and words could not describe the horror of it.

It was the first and last time he’d ever seen Viper cry.

They couldn’t turn on her and they would not forgive her, so instead they turned away, every one of them, they left her to her guilt and scattered to the four winds. Not one of them ever spoke to her again.

Skull had looked half like he wanted to ask _why,_ but in the end hadn’t been willing to give that much ground. Idiot lackey, it wasn’t like they really needed to _ask_ the reasons when they were so bloody obvious in hindsight. They were too strong, all of them, if they’d all been allowed to grow unchecked their territory would have encompassed the world. Or enough of it at least that the delicate balance of territories and buffer zones that kept the world’s Flame actives from killing each other would have irrevocably broken down. Of _course_ they had to be brought down to earth and Reborn felt like a fool for not expecting it.

That was why Luce didn’t regret what she’d done. She always was too selfless, too concerned about the big picture. He understood that, he knew Luce and it was exactly the kind of self-sacrificial move he would have expected from her, but understanding and agreement are too different things, and Reborn had never been altruistic enough to agree to something like this. None of them were, except maybe Lal. She had enough of a sense of duty she might have been willing to sacrifice _herself_. But in the end it had been Colonello sacrificed, not her, and that, was a price Lal would never have been willing to pay, any more than he’d been willing to let Lal be the one to bear the curse.

Seeing Lal and Colonello standing together had been deeply disconcerting, and the first indication that what had been done to them had other effects beyond the obvious. They hadn’t been able to speak in months after all, not since Colonello had gone active, and his presence explained neatly why Lal had been so on edge on their way up the mountain. He must have been following her, and triggering her territorial impulses in the process. If Reborn had been more of a romantic he might have found it tragically beautiful, how their instincts kept them apart even while his human heart couldn’t bring himself to let her go. But Reborn was a pragmatist, and he called it what it was, a disaster in the making. They shouldn’t have been able to be so easy in each other’s presence.  

But there they were, and Colonello had stepped in to the process, stepped in to shield Lal despite his instincts, and while it was clearly he who had got the full measure of the curse it affected both of them. They’d been hit by the curse and now they were standing next to each other without so much as a snarl when before there would have been blood on the floor. It felt wrong to look at.

Reborn had reached for his own Flame sense to try and make sense of it, and found only a cold numbness, like something vital had been amputated. He couldn’t _feel_ anything. Words couldn’t begin to describe. It had been like going blind, like going deaf, like losing the ability to touch, to feel when Reborn had once been able to _feel_ for miles. Now, now there was nothing. He could be standing right next to another Sun, close enough to touch, and he would sense _nothing,_ feel nothing. Flames that could have lit up half the world, but with the pacifier around his neck _twisting_ them until all he could feel was his own strength, until his Flames could do nothing but tear at themselves like a wild animal in a cage far too small.

Further investigation had confirmed his initial suspicions. The Arcobaleno could no longer feel the territorial Rage that was the curse of all Flame Actives, nor could they trigger it. They were dead spots in other actives’ Flame Sense, their own Flame Senses were shot to hell. They could go wherever they wanted, associate with whoever their human hearts desired, they could teach, and advise, and share information without ever having to worry about a Flame Clash.

The Arcobaleno, the Rainbow bridge, the gods’ own messenger, the thread that stitches the Sky together, the promise that binds gods and humans, the symbolism shone through again and again, in cultures across the world from each other and in the end that was what they were. The Mafia’s own messengers, tutors, and information brokers, and negotiators, all the things that Flame Actives couldn’t do for each other for fear of a Clash, all the things that _needed_ a Flame active anyway because there were things a Null couldn’t teach, or understand, or fight their way out of. They were _indispensable_ the threads that held the isolated instinctively isolationist groups of mafia together in one coherent society. They never had to worry about unemployment, they never had to want for company if they desired it, they never had to worry about violating territory, they had _respect_.

They had advantages people would kill for, and yet, Reborn would have given _anything_ to put his Flames and soul back to the way they were, the way they should have been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in this fic all of the Arcobaleno were actually quite young and recently Active when the whole Arcobaleno thing goes down. They hadn't reached their full strength yet, and the curse makes sure they never will, even if it gets lifted, it caused a lot of permanent damage.  
> And yeah Reborn is really bitter about pretty much all of it, that's why he takes it out on just about everyone he can get away with.
> 
> The arcobaleno are both undetectable by other people's Flame sense, and have none of their own to speak of, it means they don't go into territorial rages and are therefore very useful in maintaining connections between Flame active families. It also makes them very useful for training baby Skies because they can teach them stuff about being active without going homicidal maniac on their guardians.  
> This makes them very useful, beyond their raw power and talent, expect resistance to the idea of fixing the curse.  
> Lal incidentally is undetectable herself but has better Flame senses than the proper Arcobaleno, the shift in her Flames means she now reacts to Mists and Clouds instead of Rains, but she does still react.


	4. Banked embers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tsuna under the seal and after it breaks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tsuna has been afraid of a lot of things, but nothing terrifies him as much as himself.

Sometimes in the years before Reborn had arrived and turned everything upside down, Tsuna had found it hard to move, to eat, to _breathe._ Sometimes, he’d woken up in the morning with his head fuzzy and his heart numb, and nothing had seemed quite real, flat, like walking through a videogame and just as meaningless. Sometimes if he’d focused hard enough, he’d almost been able to convince himself he could see the pixels. It wasn’t right, he was self-aware enough to know that. He was no poet, but he’d had a long time to contemplate his situation and if he had to put it in words he’d say it felt like his soul had been put under glass, pinned and locked away so that he knew it was there, but could never quite manage to touch it.

A part of him wanted more than anything to shatter that glass, to reach out and reclaim his soul and watch everything _burn,_ to _feel,_ unrestricted and unmuted, the way other people did.

But he didn’t dare. The day the glass shattered, _everything_ would change, and he wasn’t ready, not yet, not quite. He wasn’t _quite_ that desperate. There was a wildness, a power to that fire under glass that was utterly inhuman and he wasn’t sure whether he wanted or feared it. Until he was, he dared not break through to it.

_“Soon, soon”,_ the voice at the back of his mind crooned, as he fought his way through every day, only half present in the world, only half alive. Soon, he told himself, soon, and sometimes that was the only thing that got him up in the mornings. On the bad days when the world seemed grey and flat to his eyes, and no-one would give him the time of day, and he felt like the only real person in the world. There was a part of him missing, locked away, and there was only so long a human being could live, with so much of themselves absent.

Soon but not yet. Because it was him, or a part of him, an important part, the part that might just make the world real if he dared reach out and touch it, but sometimes he was so terribly, terribly afraid. Afraid of the fire that flickered under the glass that encased his soul, of that part of himself that he couldn’t touch, couldn’t feel, didn’t understand. Afraid of how it would change things, of how it would change _him._

Some days it flared up, blazed against the glass wild and deadly and inhuman, and on those days, in those moments, he could feel the edges of what it would mean for him.

It would mean losing almost everything.

His mother looked at him sometimes, with such quiet grief that he was certain she already knew what he had only recently begun to understand. That the day his soul broke free of its chains would be the day they lost each other forever. She was the only person in the world that he could rely on, the only person whose love he never had to doubt, and he loved her in return, entirely. But there was a fire locked away inside him that could only Rage against her, could only see her as a threat and _hate_ , and the flickers of orange light behind her eyes told him that same fire nested in his mother’s soul, every bit as inhuman as his own. Maybe he’d inherited it from her.

Sometimes he thought about asking her, what was wrong with him, with her, what she hadn’t been telling him, he thought about demanding answers. But each time, the words died in his throat, he couldn’t say them, couldn’t bring himself to make them real. He thought about asking his mother for the truth, but if he’d asked for it she’d have given it to him, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to hear it. So he’d held his silence in a flat and grey world and pretended everything was fine. It was a coping strategy, of a sort.

Then Reborn arrived, and denial ceased to be an option.

…

The first dying will bullet had hit him with a power that stood halfway between rainfall in the desert and a forest fire, all renewal and destruction and sheer force of change, and Tsuna had never felt so alive. The glass walls between himself and his soul had shattered into a thousand tiny glittering pieces, and the world lit up with a vibrancy of colour and dimension that he’d never even realised was possible.

He could _feel_ the world around him in a way that was impossible to directly describe, could feel the heat in the souls of some of his classmates, and in people further afield than that, like and unlike the fire in his own soul, miles and miles and growing with every day. And within that range, that field of detection he could feel a burning bright orange fire strong enough to match his own, and it made him snarl unconsciously at the threat.

Flames. Reborn told him. Sky Flames. That was what had been sealed away from him, a power rooted in the soul. That was why sealing it had left him so cold and numb, why he’d only felt half alive for so many years. That was what he could feel behind his mother’s eyes that screamed threat, and challenge, and interloper, that told him she would kill him, that he should kill her. Everything had changed, and he knew with the terrible, infallible knowing that had been whispering at the back of his mind since childhood, that there was no going back.

It had taken him longer than he should have to connect that threatening, unwelcome presence with his comforting, supportive mother, even _knowing_ her Flames were as Sky orange as his own. When all the world had been against him, when he had no-one, and nothing to hold on to, she had been the one safe thing, the one _warm_ thing in a cold cold world. She had been _safe,_ and now in the space of a moment his own mother had become the enemy, and a part of him wanted nothing more than to go back to the way things were, awful as they had been.

It wasn’t _fair_ was the thing. He’d never asked for this, for any of it. To be mafia, to be a Sky, to be born with a power inside him that wouldn’t tolerate competition, even if it came from the only person in the world that loved him. It was like being given a pet tiger as a christening present, rare, and powerful, and beautiful in the way of deadly things, something that a lot of people would give a great deal to have. But still a tiger, still a dangerous wild animal, not suitable to be kept as a pet, not good for a child, not safe. A dark whisper at the back of his mind warned that most likely, he’d never feel safe again.

When Tsuna had tried to tell Reborn about it, he’d just looked at him, opaque and unsympathetic. There was no surprise or pity to be had from that quarter. A moment later Tsuna realised that Reborn must have already known. Of course he had. What didn’t he know? Tsuna was the one playing catchup, that much at least was nothing new. After all he’d spent his whole life playing catchup in one way or another, always a step behind, always struggling to keep up. Of course Reborn knew more about what was happening to him than he did. And of course he didn’t care. Reborn had been far too bitter for far too long, to waste emotional energy on pity, it didn’t take Tsuna’s intuition whispering at the back of his mind like a crazed conspiracy theorist to tell him that. Some things were obvious even to people who’d had half their soul sealed away for most of their lives.

Sitting in the hotel room Reborn had brought him to in hopes of avoiding an unfortunate incident, Tsuna had never felt so alone. He’d tried to focus on the breathing exercises that would make it possible for him to tolerate the presence of another Sky, briefly, but he couldn’t pay attention when he was so alone. Alone, with only Reborn and his acid bitterness for company. People couldn’t live like this. But then, they couldn’t live how he’d been living before either, not long term, it had been so _empty_. He couldn’t bear to go back to that, not after seeing how _bright_ the world could be. So, he lay down and tried to sleep and hoped, that maybe tomorrow, something would change again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Tsuna's in a hotel room for now but that's not a long term solution, Nana is about to go on a cruise for a few weeks so that Tsuna can go home and try and get a handle on the coping strategies that allow Skies to be in each other's presence for a while without actually trying to kill each other. Reborn will be bringing in Dino to help with that.  
> Tsuna could have broken the seal on his own but he was rightly afraid of what would happen if he did, so it stayed in place until Reborn forced the issue.   
> And no Nana isn't actually the only person that loves Tsuna. Iemitsu does as well, and Reborn does care in his own way, but as far as Tsuna is concerned at this point Nana is the only one he's sure of.   
> Reborn is bitter as fuck, but don't worry, his attitude will improve over the course of this story.


	5. Ghostlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tsuyoshi, and Takeshi, and what their Flames have taken from both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rains don't Rage, but there are times that Tsuyoshi wonders if that burning kind of anger might help keep him warm against the terrible cold emptiness that Takeshi's activation left in him.

If asked to describe it, Tsuyoshi would say that Takeshi’s activation went like this. It was the slow creeping sensation of something between them gone off kilter, a disconnect that he put down to his son being a teenager, looking for his own space. It was a brittleness behind Takeshi’s smile, that grew as he became ever more isolated, and Tsuyoshi couldn’t quite find the connection that had anchored them both since Takeshi’s mother had died. It was the sharp shock as Tsuyoshi realised that little Sawada Tsunayoshi had been unsealed, that the Sun Arcobaleno was training him. It was the old faded knowledge that he tried so very hard to repress, that baby Skies have an unfortunate tendency to drag potential guardians active, especially when under the sort of stress that Reborn’s training generally involved. It was so slow he didn’t even see it happening, until it was so sudden it caught him off guard, and he couldn’t help but blame himself, for everything.

Rains don’t really Rage, not like Storms and Clouds, and even Skies under the right circumstances. They don’t Rage, but that doesn’t make them any less territorial, any less lethal to each other, any less _alone_. Nature had laid down her bitter rules, no Flame user can tolerate the presence of another of the same Flame for long, no matter what the human cost might be. Tranquillity is the Aspect of Rain, and so Rains don’t Rage, but the killing hate of a Rain user bites all the deeper for the coldness of it. When Tsuyoshi got the call from the school, telling him what his son tried to do, he knew immediately who was to blame, whose Flames had pushed at him to freeze his son out, and pushed at his son to leave, and pushed at the very air of their home until the taste of it was enough to drown a person’s will to live. He knew why his son had tried to kill himself, and he hated himself for not seeing the warning signs sooner. He hadn’t wanted the signs to be there, and so he hadn’t seen them, not until things had gone far beyond what a sane man could ignore.

He had never wanted Takeshi to go active, of course he hadn’t. No parent who knew the costs would ever want that for their child, at least, no parent worth the name. The inhuman instincts that twisted everything, that made a man want, and made a man hate, and left him so very alone in the world, that made it so that the only place he could _live_ was in the bloodied shadows of the criminal world, the only place where people knew what he was and why he acted the way he did. He hadn’t wanted that for his boy, and so he’d buried almost everything of himself, he’d left the mafia, and set aside his sword, and raised Takeshi to love baseball, and tried to convince himself it would work. He’d done everything in his power to give Takeshi a happy, safe, civilian life, to make sure that he never _needed_ to call on the blue flames sleeping in his soul, and none of it had been enough.

A part of him wanted to hate little Tsunayoshi, for dragging his son active, and dragging him into the mafia, and turning all of Tsuyoshi’s efforts to ash. But the truth was, that trying to keep Takeshi from touching his Flames always had been a futile effort, he might as well have been trying to hold back the waves from the shore. Takeshi was far too much his father’s son, in all the worst ways. Too strong, too stubborn, too much a killer, to have stayed inactive. With hindsight Tsuyoshi could see, he should have known that from the start. It wasn’t Tsunayoshi’s fault, and it wasn’t like he’d asked for any of it either. At least, with a Sky, with Tsuna, his son wouldn’t be _alone,_ the way so many young Flame actives were, the way the Gokudera boy clearly had been.  And, in the end it was Tsunayoshi that had saved his son’s life when Tsuyoshi’s own flames had nearly driven him to suicide. Tsuyoshi didn’t have the heart to hate him in light of that truth.

Oh but it was so hard. Watching, watching, always from a distance, as his son grew and changed, and learned without him, never daring to get too close. Watching as his son got into danger, and fought his way through it, and found friends that would fight beside him. Watching, and remembering the closeness they’d lost and would never have again.

Takeshi’s mother had died too young, and left the two of them with no-one else. Maybe it would have been different if she’d lived, if they’d had her Mist to serve as a buffer between two Rains of no small strength. She’d always been able to distract him when they were younger, and he didn’t know if it was because she was a Mist, or because he loved her, that she was able to command his attention so well. Maybe if she’d lived she could have acted as an intermediary, could have held them all together when nature and instinct tried to drive them apart. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking. All he knew was that without her the two of them had held each other as close and tight as blood and bone could hold, and it hadn’t been enough when their souls had turned on each other.

It had felt like nails being hammered into a coffin when Takeshi asked him to teach him the sword, to teach him Shigure Souen Ryo. Because Shigure Souen was a sword style created by Rain users for Rain users, that was its great strength, and its great flaw. Taught by one active Rain to another, with all the bone deep understanding, and soul deep bitterness that one Rain active teaching another entailed. There was power in it, in the way they did things. The style _fit_ their Flame, their power so perfectly, polished by generation upon generation of refinement and improvement, fit in ways that no more general style could ever match. But there was a reason the traditions of its teaching were laid down the way they were, and it carried its own price. The forms were shown _once,_ the lesson was taught _once,_ and then master and student walked away from each other, walked their own paths, lived and fought and died apart. There was none of the sparring, and practicing, and trading back and forth of ideas, and knowledge, and skill, that was the joy and privilege of other styles. There was no aged master calling upon his student for support, or graduated student returning to his master for advice. The teaching of Shigure Soen Ryo was at once a show of love, and a farewell.

He and Takeshi had been set on different paths the moment he activated his Flames, but teaching him Shigure Soen, that had made it real in a way nothing else had. The final acceptance that they would never be easy in each other’s company again. They weren’t family anymore, not the way they had been, sharing everything, relying on each other, just the two of them against the world. Now they were rival Rain users, and the loneliness left him feeling cold inside. He wondered if Sawada Nana ever felt the same, looking at her son, who she couldn’t help but love and couldn’t help but hate. Wondered if she felt that kind of icy despair, looking at his burning bright orange soul, even brighter than her own, or if the Rage that Skies felt and Rains didn’t was enough to keep her warm.

Maybe he’d ask her, after all, young Flame users weren’t the only ones that needed friends. Having someone to talk to might just make the whole thing easier to bear and it wasn’t like either of them had anyone else. Iemitsu was as distant from her as Tsunayoshi, and had been for a long time, and Nana had no guardians of her own to ease the ache. Iemistsu was her husband and her love, but their Flames kept them apart too much to really be friends, and now, with Tsuna lost to her as Takeshi was to him, he knew she was as lonely as he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takeshi and Tsuyoshi can still be in the same room together because Rains are the most chill of all Flame types, but in some ways that just makes it worse because the closeness that they used to have is being frozen out by their Flames, and being in each other's company only makes that more obvious.  
> I have vague plans for Tsuyoshi and Nana to bond though which should be nice for them.


	6. Throwing sparks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a reason parents pray their children don't go flame active too young.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More than anything, Lambo just wants to go home.

More than anything else in the whole wide world, Lambo just wanted to go home.

Some nights he dreamed about it. Dreamed that he was home, and his family loved him again, and they hadn’t chosen his cousin when they were deciding who could stay and who would have to leave. Some nights he dreamed about it, and waking up was enough to bring him to tears.

He still didn’t really understand all of what had happened that day, but he understood enough and more than enough. He understood that for reasons no-one had quite managed to explain, his world had fallen apart the moment he threw bright green sparks, and now he could never go home again.

One moment he’d been sparring with his cousin, who’d always been just a little older, a little stronger, a little better than him, the next moment he could feel the crackle of electricity in his blood, and an unthinking rage in his bones. A heartbeat later the adults were dragging them apart, and talking over their heads, and giving each other the kind of dark serious looks he’d last seen when grandfather died.  He hadn’t understood what was wrong, but he knew that something was, and that when the green fire inside him had flared up in response to his fear, his parents had only looked more concerned, more afraid.

He might not understand why, but he understood that his parents had lied to him when they swore they loved him more than anything in the world. They must have done, because if it was true then they wouldn’t have sent him away. He understood that suddenly the room hadn’t been big enough for both him and Angelo, that the _world_ hadn’t been big enough, and both sets of parents knew that. He understood that their family had looked at two of them, at the matching green glow in their eyes, with the knowledge that they’d have to make a choice, and that in the end that choice had not been him. He understood altogether too much.

It wasn’t _fair._ It wasn’t his fault that Angelo was a whole year older, and bigger, and better at sitting still and listening. Lambo should have been the one that got to stay. _Lambo_ was the one who’d thrown sparks first after all, so really it was all Angelo’s fault for copying him. If he hadn’t done that then the adults wouldn’t have had to choose and none of this would be happening. Lambo _hated_ him.

Lambo’s sparks were stronger too, he could feel the certainty of it crackling like the green fire in his chest. If the adults hadn’t dragged them apart he could have proved it, he would have. He would have smashed that smug stupidhead’s face into the mats for once and not stopped until he was bleeding and crying. He would have _crushed_ him. He would, it wasn’t fair that his family hadn’t given him a chance to prove it.

Still. He’d show them. He’d show them all. He’d kill Reborn, and then they’d _have_ to take him back, because everyone knew the arcobaleno were the strongest, and that meant if he killed one he’d be the strongest, and that meant Angelo wouldn’t be stronger and that meant they wouldn’t choose Angelo over him, they couldn’t.

Then he could go _home._ Sometimes it was all he could think about, all he could dream about. About how he would sleep in his own bed, and eat aunty’s cooking, and be hugged by his mama, and hear his papa say he loved him more than anything in the world, and _know_ it wasn’t a lie. He could have all that, he could have it back. All he had to do was kill Reborn.

...

He’d found him as well, because Lambo was just that amazing. He’d tracked him down all by himself, and then he’d sneaked onto a flight to Japan, and made his own way to the house where Reborn was staying. The great Lambo sama was _awesome._ He would have liked to see that goody two shoes Angelo manage all that.

Killing him had admittedly been more of a challenge than Lambo expected, it might take a while. But that was ok, he had time. He could kill Reborn and then return home in triumph, and then cast Angelo out into the cold. He could go home.

It would be fine. Lambo wasn’t going to cry. He wasn’t. Because he was strong, and powerful, and better than Angelo in every way, and big boys didn’t cry, and he’d be going home soon and all this would just be an awesome adventure to tell people about. He wasn’t going to cry.

Except that then he met Tsuna nii, and Tsuna nii didn’t say a word about _any_ of it, but Lambo could _feel_ him. He felt lonely, and sad, and afraid, and he _understood,_ he understood everything. And because he understood he didn’t say a word, didn’t ask Lambo to talk about it, but he picked him up and held him close, and brought him home with him, and somehow Lambo hadn’t quite been able to hold the tears back. Not when Tsuna nii held him close and called him his, and for the first time since he first threw sparks Lambo felt _safe._

Lambo wanted to go home more than anything in the world, but now, sometimes, when he thought about what that meant, about what _home_ meant, he didn’t think about Italy, and his parents and the Bovino. Sometimes, now when he thought _home,_ he thought Tsuna nii holding him tight with arms and flames and understanding, he thought mama Sawada’s cooking on those rare occasions when she and Tsuna nii could bring themselves to sleep under one roof, he thought Namimori, and the rest of the rag tag team of outcasts that centred themselves around Tsuna nii. He thought about home, and he thought about the family he’d found, almost as often as he thought about the one that abandoned him.

And he thought of Ipin.

Ipin who was like his own mirror. Alone in the world before Tsuna nii took her in and with nowhere else to go. Ipin who was smart, and strong, and great at playing tag. Who was a little uptight to match Lambo’s own wild recklessness. Ipin who he was going to marry when they were grown-ups, although he wouldn’t actually tell anyone that last part. Ahoudera would never let him hear the end of it. Ipin was home too.

She had red Flames like Ahoudera, but Ahoudera could do a weird thing with his fire that made it feel less red, so the two of them didn’t have to be kept separated or anything like that. That was good, Lambo didn’t want either of them to leave, even if Ahoudera was really annoying. Lambo didn’t _think_ Tsuna nii would let anyone get kicked out like Lambo had been from his first family, but then, he hadn’t thought that the first time either.

But no, Tsuna nii wasn’t like that. Lambo refused to believe Tsuna nii was like that. Tsuna nii _felt_ like home, like certainty, felt like a _promise_ that couldn’t be broken the way his parent’s promises had. It was easy to know, but hard to believe him, that Tsuna nii wouldn’t break a promise like that, trust didn’t come easily for Lambo, not any more. But Tsuna nii _couldn’t_ just abandon him, Tsuna nii was his Sky, and that meant he couldn’t send Lambo away, and Lambo wouldn’t let him send Ipin away, and so everything would be fine. No-one would have to _leave._

He could never go home again. That was what his family had told him when they sent him away. But they’d lied about everything else, it only made sense that they would lie about that too. And they had he knew they had, because he’d travelled halfway across the world and somehow he’d managed to come home anyway. Home to Tsuna nii, and mama Sawada, and Ahoudera, and Ryouhei nii, and all the others. Home to Ipin, who knew just how much a home mattered, and it was more real than his first home had ever been. All the more real for being so hard won. He would keep this home, even if he had to _kill_ anyone who tried to take it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Owing to the circumstances with Nana and Tsuna both being active Skies, the two of them don't actually live together anymore, although they have managed to work their way up to overnight stays. As a result, Lambo is living with Tsuna but not Nana and Tsuna is responsible for a lot more of his and Ipin's care than in canon.   
> Tsuna and Nana still love each other, but it's not easy.
> 
> Lambo's family were over the line when they kicked Lambo out. The accepted solution would have been to send one of the kids out to a country manor with supervision, and get them both training. But they realised just how strong Lambo was and they freaked out.   
> Tsuna will be having words with the Bovino.


	7. Fire and flood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Colonello has no regrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a power in a willing sacrifice.

Just to be clear. Colonello regretted _nothing._

He didn’t expect the others to understand of course. Not even Lal, who was in the end the reason for all of it. After all, they’d none of them chosen their fate, their destruction. Luce had led them up the garden path, and broken them all unwilling into what the world needed them to be, and there wasn’t one of them that wouldn’t give _anything_ to go back and change it all. That was understandable. It was a terrible terrible thing that had been done to them all. Every day, every moment he could feel the weight of the pacifier around his neck, twisting, and tearing, and eating him alive. It was awful, and unforgivable, and some nights he couldn’t help but wake up screaming with the sheer horror of it.

But he’d made his own choices, at every moment he’d made his own choices. That was what made him different. The others, they’d been deceived, and betrayed, and forced, but Colonello, he’d walked into this willingly, with his eyes wide open, and he didn’t regret it.

Love they said, could lead a man to madness and beyond. He supposed he was living proof of that. Lal was worth it though, she was worth all of it. He loved her with a quiet unshakable devotion that was born in the innocence of childhood, and hardened in the fires of war, and could never be shaken loose. He’d always known he would follow her anywhere, that there was no hell he wouldn’t walk into willingly for her sake. He’d walked into war, and out of war for her, he would walk far further if she needed him to.

As it turned out, she did.

The day he’d activated his Flames, Lal had tried to kill him of course. He’d known to expect it and yet still he hadn’t _known,_ the way the hate would burn in him like ice, how it would fill his heart and mind, and vision until it became all of him. He hadn’t _known_ what it would feel like when the hate ebbed, when they were forced apart, when he saw the blood he drew, when he knew he’d hurt her, when he felt the pain where she’d struck him and knew she’d tried to kill him. There had always been violence in their interactions, tough love came easiest to both of them and they were often rough with each other. But this was different, this time, she _meant it_ and he had too. This time they’d nearly killed each other and it broke his heart just a little, to know that would always be between them now. They’d tried to kill each other and that was on him. It had been his choice to follow her active after all.

Truth be told, he’d vaguely hoped he might be a Sky. If he had been maybe he could have dragged Lal away from Luce’s harmony before the net closed. Maybe he could have saved them both. Luce would have been stronger of course, the Giglio Nero Skies were on a level all their own when it came to raw power, but the existing connection between him and Lal might have been enough to tip the balance and steal her away, if he’d been a Sky.

The odds had always been against that though. Skies weren’t exactly common, and he wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t lit up orange. Rain was a decent second option and not entirely unexpected. He could work with Rain, he might not be able to drag Lal out of Luce’s harmony, but maybe he could take her place. He couldn’t save them both, but maybe, just maybe he could save her, and that was all that really mattered.

He’d half expected to light up Rain, and he’d known what that would mean for the two of them. He’d known, even if he hadn’t expected the full weight of it, and he’d done it anyway. And it had been necessary he knew that, for Lal’s sake it had been necessary. He just wished it could have happened without sacrificing everything they were to each other. Human love all twisted up with the inhuman hate Flame users were heir to. Closeness, and comradeship, and years of shared history, all set alight, all burning away to bitter ashes.

But then again maybe the sacrifice was the point, there was a power in sacrifice after all.

…

The others, he suspected, underestimated how much he’d known. They believed he hadn’t _known_ he was sacrificing himself. Maybe it was projection, maybe it was simple denial but Reborn at least thought he was an idiot that got in over his head, that he’d acted on impulse and got burned for it, and Verde and Fon probably agreed with him. They didn’t understand how anyone who knew what they were facing would have walked into it anyway. Lovestruck fool was one of the gentler epithets the world’s strongest hitman had thrown at him, and well, he wasn’t _wrong,_ but he wasn’t quite right either, not with the hate of a Rain for a fellow Rain screaming at him to let her burn. It had taken deliberate intent to do what he’d done. Instinct and impulse had demanded a very different choice from him.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

He wouldn’t go so far as to say he’d known what was coming. None of them had known that, save for Luce, and she kept her secrets close. But he’d seen clearer than the others. The pull of Luce’s Sky was blinding, and it was only because she hadn’t bothered to try and draw him in that he could see so clear. She was after all, the strongest Sky in the world. But he hadn’t been active when she’d first drawn Lal in, and she had never made any subsequent efforts to sway him, and so he could see clear. He could see and what he saw was that there was something not right, something off about the way Luce acted, and the things that weren’t said, and the details that never quite got shared, about the future and the plan and why she’d gathered together the seven strongest flame actives in the world. He hadn’t known about the curse, he’d just known something was _wrong,_ and that Lal was in trouble. That was all he’d really needed to know, in the end.

He’d followed them up the mountain that day, with a cold certainty in his heart that whatever was going to happen, whatever nightmare Lal might be headed into, it was time. That the moment he’d forced himself active just to spin awry had come. He’d followed them to that cave, and watched what happened, what Luce and the man in the Iron hat had done. He’d watched as the curse was laid, and then he’d seen his moment and he’d _moved._

It was funny really, Luce thought the curse had stuck to him instead of Lal because he was stronger. She assumed she’d just made a mistake, chosen the wrong one as the strongest Rain, and maybe she was right. Colonello though, he had another theory. Because the others had been deceived, and betrayed, and forced, but he’d walked into that cave, into his curse, with his eyes wide open, by his own choice, and there was power in a willing sacrifice.

Personally he’d be willing to lay odds on Lal being the stronger of the two of them at least in terms of raw power, she’d always been stronger, but he’d been willing and she had not, and Flames were after all, born from human resolve. The others had been betrayed by their own Sky, and forced into a fate they wanted no part of, and if ever there was a thing to shatter a person’s resolve surely it was that. But he’d made his own choices, to save the woman he loved. She might be stronger in terms of raw power, but in that moment, for just long enough, his resolve had outmatched hers.

And so the curse was his. His not hers and he could live with that. She wasn’t untouched maybe, but she could live her life at least, and sometimes you had to take what victories you could. It was enough.

At least now the hate was gone. He couldn’t feel her, couldn’t feel anyone, and even if he could, she wasn’t a Rain anymore. They were standing side by side, hardly a hands breadth of space between them and yet he felt nothing. No hate, no overwhelming urge to kill, and even through the relentless, agonising, gnawing of the pacifier on his soul, that was a relief he had no words for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, Colonello is, maybe a little fixated. It's a Rain thing.   
> To be clear Lal knows exactly why Colonello did what he did, that's why she's still not speaking to him. That idiot isn't Allowed to sacrifice himself for her, she's not ok with that.   
> And yeah, the whole arcobaleno setup was shady as hell and anyone who wasn't addled by Luce's Sky flames would probably have registered that. Since she wasn't paying attention to Colonello he was more aware of how suspicious everything was than everyone else. He didn't know what Luce was up to, but it was obvious she needed a Rain for it, and it was just as obvious he didn't want Lal caught in the middle of it. So he went active to try and fix it.   
> As far as he was concerned the ideal scenario would have been if he'd managed to activate as a Sky and steal Lal away from Luce, forcing Luce to go find another Rain to fuck with, Rain was a good second option though because it meant that he could try and take Lal's place in whatever Luce's plan was. Either way, Lal got out.


End file.
